


Fortune Favours the Bold

by Anonymous



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, POV Carver Hawke, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Pollen, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:01:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29782731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Surely if wyvern guts wereknownto have aphrodisiac qualities, they would've received some prior warning.
Relationships: Carver Hawke/Merrill
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10
Collections: Nobody Expects the Dragon Age Smutquisition





	Fortune Favours the Bold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hollyand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyand/gifts).



Carver had hoped that time and distance would have helped him stop making such an ass of himself in Merrill’s presence, but Maker help him, it had simply seemed to make everything _worse_.

As they trudged through the Orlesian countryside, his brother on yet another typical mission bequeathed upon him by someone who batted their eyelashes just right, and Carver himself ostensibly partaking in ‘diplomacy’ at the request of Knight-Commander, he felt frightfully aware of the way Merrill’s body moved as she fought by his side.

He tried to tell himself it was nothing. They were simply comrades-in-arms, after a fashion. It was only natural for him to be aware of her precise location just in case he needed to shield her from a blow or keep her out of harm’s way. Besides, she was a _mage_ , and sensing a mage’s connection to the Fade was an inherent part of a templar’s training. It was important to know when a mage might be about to cast, so that one might intervene, should it be necessary.

Not that he had any intention of getting in Merrill’s way. Not like that. They were on the same side, here, and he’d had many years of practice in overlooking his brother’s apostasy. He could do the same for Merrill. Wanted to do so more, in fact. _That_ particular thought settled uncomfortably somewhere deep inside him, buried next to the realisation he had long stopped tracking his brother’s actions when they fought together on the battlefield.

But that couldn’t be helped, either. Garrett was a force of nature. Sometimes it was difficult to tell where man ended and fireball began.

In any case, Carver was resolutely ignoring his brother and his newfound friend to the best of his abilities, which simply left his attention focused on Merrill.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be thinking about her. It was simply that he didn’t want to seem too obvious about his interest. But it was nice to have a distraction from the wyvern he was currently dragging behind him. Why did he always get stuck with the shitty jobs?

That question, too, had ended up being far more literal than he would have liked today, and he didn’t realise he’d uttered it aloud until he heard a giggle escape Merrill’s throat. She clapped a hand over her mouth as though to disguise it, but it was no use. He’d already heard. Ugh. What had he done now?

“You do have the biggest muscles of us all,” Merrill said, in that too-easy way of hers. Maker’s breath, that woman could get away with saying anything.

He flushed despite himself. “You’re just saying that because Aveline’s not here,” he answered, more snappishly than intended, which left him wanting to kick himself. Why couldn’t he just flirt like a normal person, instead of being self-deprecating when Merrill clearly wanted to admire him, for some unfathomable reason. The fact that he _was_ correct in his assessment – how had Isabela put it again – that Aveline was a woman-sized battering ram was irrelevant. 

“Maybe,” Merrill said, rocking on her heels, “but Aveline’s not here, is she? Just you.”

 _Just him_ was potentially overstating their circumstances somewhat, because there was also his brother and his new friend Tallis and the corpse of the dead wyvern, but when he locked eyes with Merrill, none of that seemed to even matter. Varric called her _Daisy,_ but Carver rather thought that a more suitable name would be _Sunflower_. Blinding and beautiful.

Double ugh. He wasn’t a poet. What had gotten into him?

Sweat dripped down his forehead, and he longed for a spare piece of cloth to wipe it with. But between the rope rigged to the wyvern and his heavy plate armour, he didn’t have anything with which to dab it.

Why was it so _hot_?

“Are you all right?” Garrett asked abruptly, the first words he’d spoken to Carver in at least half an hour.

 _Was_ he? Carver was dripping like a shirt left out to dry on a cloudy day, with no opportunity for relief in sight. His muscles were as taut as they were on the eve of battle, body primed to evaluate threats that would not be coming. Certainly, there might encounter more beasties on their way back to the chateau, but it wouldn’t be anything the four of them could handle.

It wasn’t worth worrying anyone. Especially not Garrett. And _especially_ not Merrill.

“I’m fine,” answered Carver. 

His brother shrugged his shoulders. “If you insist.”

“I do,” Carver said with as much certainty as he could muster. 

They were falling into old patterns, but then something completely unexpected happened. The world spun, just for a moment, and Merrill, who’d never left his side, laid a steadying hand on his vambrace.

She laid her hand on his vambrace, and even through the layers of armour and leather, the sheer _implication_ of contact went straight to his cock.

Maker’s balls, he was _screwed_.

*

Somehow, they made it back to the chateau’s courtyard without further incident, and Carver was finally freed from the inconvenient weight of the wyvern. Unfortunately, it hadn’t seemed to help with his little problem, which was actually much larger than he cared to admit right now. He felt like he was about to burst out of his armour. Maker, wouldn't that be a sight? 

It didn’t help that Merrill was never far from hand. Not that he was complaining. 

When Garrett suggested splitting up to cover more ground on their hare-brained mission, part of him had wanted to protest. Profusely. That strategy would leave him alone with Merrill. Alone. _With Merrill._

Perhaps Garrett was doing this on purpose. It was precisely the sort of thing his brother would tease him with – Carver just wished he would leave Merrill out of it.

“Maybe we should split up, too,” Carver suggested feebly once the others were on the way, scuffing the toes of one of his boots against the dirt of the path. He knew as soon as he said it that Merrill wouldn’t be amenable to the suggestion, and he felt all the more foolish for making it. 

“Don’t be silly,” Merrill admonished. “I’ve been meaning to get you alone for ages.” She bit back a gasp. “Oh, now that _definitely_ sounded dirty. I didn’t mean it like that. I mean – I didn’t _not_ mean it … and I’m rambling again,” she said, wringing her hands as though she didn’t quite know what to do with them.

Carver didn’t know what struck him at that moment. Perhaps it was the heat. Perhaps it was the knowledge that this opportunity would be lost if he didn’t leap forward, head-first. Perhaps it was something else entirely. But before he could quite stop himself, he reached out and wrapped one of Merrill’s hands in his gauntleted fingers. “It’s adorable.”

“Oh, _oh,_ ” said Merrill, her gaze rapidly darting from Carver’s face to where their hands were joined. She turned her head and spoke at a pitch an octave higher than her usual cant, “Hawke _did_ tell us to get out of sight.”

 _I’m Hawke_ , Carver thought instinctively, but it was as though the fire which fuelled his usual resentment had begun to dim, replaced by a heat from an entirely different source. He’d been trying not to think about it as they’d made their way back to the chateau, but there was no mistaking the heavy thrum of arousal flooding his veins.

This couldn’t _possibly_ be what Merrill had in mind, but some small part of him couldn’t help but hope regardless. Instead, he scanned the horizon, and pointed at the nearby hedge. There was a small gap in the neatly trimmed wall of green. That would do. “Through here,” he instructed, holding Merrill’s hand tighter as he tugged along behind him. 

Carver wasn’t sure if it was a purpose-built maze – it did seem a very Orlesian sort of extravagance – but it was secluded enough for _their_ purposes. Whatever their purposes were. _Stay out of sight,_ Garrett had said _._ Well, Carver certainly doubted any servants would find them here.

And for the rest of it …

Merrill was standing awfully, awfully close. Closer than she had been all day, in fact, and he would know. He’d not let out of her sight even once. Not that he’d been trying. Or not trying. It was just –

Her hands were now on his chest. Round, green eyes stared up at him imploringly. His gaze traced the lines of her vallaslin. “You feel it too, don’t you?” she asked.

He almost choked on his own breath. “ _What?”_ She couldn’t possibly mean what he thought she might – that she too was overcome with the urge to throw all caution to the wind, throw all their _clothes_ to the wind, and rut in some Orlesian hedge maze like two animals in heat. His mind supplied the images anyway. Merrill, bent over, fistfuls of hedge in her hands to steady herself as he pushed his skirts and leathers and smalls out of the way so he could fill her with his cock…

Said organ was throbbing insistently now, as though demanding he make his fantasy a reality and he shook his head as though to clear his mind. This train of thought was _not_ helping.

“Ever since you stepped in between me and that wyvern…” Merrill’s nose wrinkled. “And it got its guts. All over us. I’ve been feeling like… like…” Although words seemed to have failed her, actions did not, for before Carver could truly process what was happening, Merrill stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him.

She _kissed_ him.

Everything that came next was pure instinct. He wrapped one arm around her and pulled her flush against him, wishing more than anything that there was less layers between them, so he could feel the curve of her tits against his chest, the wetness of her cunt upon his thigh, which had somehow found its way between her legs.

But he was being presumptuous. A kiss was just a kiss, even if it were one of the most amazing kisses he’d ever had in his entire life. Merrill’s lips were surprisingly soft. Not that he’d expected them to be anything else. But even in his dreams it hadn’t felt like this. The Merrill in his arms now was solid, and _real_.

He wished he could get a better sense of what she smelled like without scent of wyvern guts, but he would take his victories where he could.

With great reluctance that he parted for air, although he barely retreated at all, simply pressing his forehead against Merrill’s. Her eyes were open now. Maybe they had been the whole time. But it wasn’t like he’d been looking.

“I’ve been thinking about doing that since before the wyvern,” Carver said, overcome with the urge to explain himself.

The corner of Merrill’s lips curled upwards, and her cheeks and ears flushed a light red, right to their very points. “Me, too,” she admitted. “Very much so.”

The confirmation that Merrill wanted him, in any capacity, shouldn’t have excited him as much as it did. He was a grown man, and yet he still felt like punching the air in ecstasy. Instead, he decided a fair warning was in order. “Merrill, if we keep doing this, I don’t know if I can hold back—”

He was interrupted by one of her fingers on his lips.

“I don’t want you to,” she said simply, and then she kissed him again.

Despite Merrill’s assurances, it took Carver several moments to gather the boldness to explore. First, his hands canvassed her sides, the dip of her waist, the curve of her arse, before shifting to her front. He took a deep breath before allowing himself to cup one of her breasts, but the noise that escaped her made the risk completely worth it. He would swear to the Maker himself that he could _feel_ one of Merrill’s nipples harden under his thumb, despite the layers of clothing between them.

The clothing… now, he could definitely do something about that. Just enough to get the necessary garments out of his way… Fortunately, Merrill seemed to know exactly what he had in mind when his questing fingers found their way underneath her tabard. It was her turn to pull away with reluctance, a wistful smile curling at the corner of her lips. “It’s probably easier if I take this off myself,” she said.

“Right, right you are,” Carver said, taking a step back to give Merrill the room to do whatever she needed. He knew how difficult donning and removing unfamiliar armour could be. He waited for her to start, just to be sure, completely sure, that this was heading in the decision that he thought it was, and once he was convinced that this wasn’t some elaborate prank, he started removing his own underthings as well, and his gauntlets and gloves for good measure, too. The heat felt less oppressive now that his prick was out in the open, and even the light breeze that was rustling the leaves of the hedges couldn’t dampen its enthusiasm. 

As it turned out, Merrill could take off her under-armour without removing the tabard. He drunk in the sight of her: strong supple legs peeking out from below the cloth, with the knowledge that she was otherwise completely bare beneath… 

There were no words for it other, really, except for _incredibly erotic._

Her gaze, however, had dropped to where his cock protruded from his body, stiff and proud, with a small pool of precome glistening at the tip. She was silent for so long he was almost compelled to ask if there was something wrong with it, but he bit down the insecurity. He had got this far.

He wouldn’t fuck things up now.

Eyes wide, Merrill whispered, “You’re _huge_. I mean. I always knew you were big. I just never stopped to think that it might, well, be _everywhere._ ”

Pride warred with worry in his chest. His brow furrowed. “Is – is that going to be a problem?” he hedged uncertainly.

Merrill tilted her head to the side, as though she were assessing him. “No. I don’t think so. Unless you make it one.”

And then she slid down onto her knees, looking up at him her eyelashes like he was some sort of sumptuous meal she intended to devour. In that moment, he was certain that he would never forget Merrill’s expression, even if he lived to be a hundred. Had a woman ever gazed upon him with such genuine fondness and admiration on her face?

One of Merrill’s hands reached out to grasp the base of his cock, as though to steady and guide herself. She had barely touched him and yet he was practically dripping. “Merrill,” he said, not caring how much it sounded like he was begging. He was. Wasn’t he?

There was little opportunity to dwell upon his feelings any further because that was when she sucked him down into warm wet heat, her cheeks hollowed as she attempted to get as much of his cock into her mouth as possible. Maker, but she really _was_ tiny compared to him. He was impressed she was getting this far at all.

Any more complicated thought was soon far from the forefront of his mind as Merrill got to work, hand stimulating the column of his shaft as her tongue swirled around the tip, the moisture from her mouth intermingling with the precome.

He threaded his fingers through her hair, careful not to push or pull or do anything which might discourage her from her current course of action. Besides, it seemed like she _really_ knew what she was doing, and Carver wasn’t going to interrupt her process. He wasn’t stupid.

As pent up and aroused as he was, he always knew he wasn’t going to last very long. Before he could quite help himself, his fingers tightened in her hair, as though he had half a mind to pull her off. But then Merrill _moaned_ , low and deep at the back of her throat, and it was all too much for him to bear. His arousal reached its crescendo and then he was barrelling over his peak, seed spilling between her parted lips.

He half-expected her to splutter, or gag, or be disgusted, but she instead she drank him down without hesitation, catching his gaze as she looked up at him. She didn’t pull away once he was done, and to his surprise, he felt himself grow harder instead of gradually softening.

In the end, it was Carver who stepped backwards, disconnecting them from one another. Merrill licked her lips, slow and sensual, and the sight of it made his cock stiffen further, to the point where it was slightly painful. His nerves felt like they were rubbed raw, as though he was experiencing too many sensations at once. His skin prickled as if there was lightning dancing all over it, and perhaps in the presence of any other mage he would wonder if he was being attacked, his vulnerabilities taken advantage of, but he was certain that was not the case here.

Merrill didn’t need _magic_ to enchant him.

He stared down at his cock and willed himself to speak. “This, this…” he started, with a wave of his hand, “this has never happened before.”

Leaning back so she was lying across the ground, Merrill clucked her tongue sympathetically. “I think it’s the guts,” she said, punctuating her sentence with a little sigh, like it was some sort of terrible affliction. “We can stop if you like. There’s an antidote for the venom. There’s probably an antidote for this, too.”

 _An antidote._ Surely if wyvern guts were known to have aphrodisiac qualities, they would've received some prior warning. And besides … it might not be exactly as he pictured it, but he had wanted this for a while. And if it turned out he was dreaming this time, too, he didn’t want it to stop so soon.

He stretched himself out on the ground beside her, and she quickly entangled one of her legs between his own. “Everything you said earlier,” he said, “it wasn’t – it wasn’t just the guts, right?”  
  
Merrill smiled, thin fingers reaching out to encircle one of Carver’s wrists. “Not at all. Although it does make things easier. In all sorts of different ways.” Then she guided his hand underneath her tabard, towards the apex of her thighs. He took the hint and pressed a finger inside her. Maker, but she was _wet._ It was so easy to drag his hand up, between her folds; it glided effortless, frictionless, and he soon began to rub circles over her clit.

Eyes fluttering shut, Merrill’s breathing was punctuated with little sighs, with interjected instructions at relevant junctures. Harder. Softer. A little to the left. 

When her inhalations and exhalations increased in pace and he felt that she was close, he pressed a couple of fingers into her cunt with his other hand, and crooked them against that soft, spongy spot which he knew didn't work on _everyone_ , but was still worth a try, and when Merrill dug her fingernails into his skin and began panting _more, more, more,_ he knew that he had succeeded.

She tensed all over like the moment before a full-body sneeze, and then she was gone, over her own peak, the walls of her cunt pulsing around his fingers. He slowed down as she rode out the waves of her orgasm, stopping just as she did. 

He withdrew his hands, and before he could give the matter much further thought, he raised the fingers that had been inside her to his mouth. Now he knew why she had licked her lips after she had made him come. There was something surprisingly intimate about wanting to be so close to another, to have a part of them inside one another... 

His erection had flagged somewhat while he had focused on his previous ministrations, but perked right back up again at his current train of thought. At least it no longer felt quite so overestimulated as it had in the immediate aftermath of his previous orgasm. 

Carver watched as Merril's gaze trailed back downwards, pausing on his prick. "We should do something about that. Get it out of your system," she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Not like he had any desire to protest. 

Especially not when, Andraste help him, Merrill got to her feet, turning around and steadying herself against the hedge, looking like every temptation out of his daydreams. Is this what mages had to deal with when they encountered desire demons in the Fade?

He very quickly stood up himself, reaching for Merrill and placing a hand on her waist and another against the hedge for balance. “Are you sure—”

“Carver,” Merill said, more sharply than he’d ever heard her speak before. "I want you to fuck me. Do you want to fuck me?" 

What else could he say to that? “More than anything,” he said, all hesitation and doubt wiped from his mind. He lined his cock up with her entrance but paused in order to breathe deeply before taking the plunge. 

“ _Carver,”_ Merrill warned, and he heeded her, the slow push of his cock inside her aided by her arousal. 

He half had to lift her to get the right angle, but once he did, any concerns he had about not fitting were far from the forefront of his mind as he felt the tightness of her cunt around his prick, and all he could do not to rut into her with wild abandon. His strokes were slow at first, pulling almost the whole way out before thrusting back into her, but when she slipped a hand between her thighs and started stroking herself, he couldn't help it: he sped up, his attention tunneled on nothing but warmth and wet and heat. 

It was only at the very last moment that he had the presence of mind to pull out of her, his come spurting out of him onto her lower back. Hoping he hadn't got any on her tabard, it was all he could do to regain his breath and watch as she continued to touch herself, and before too long she was coming again as well. In a daze, he tugged her back to the ground, his thighs cramping uncomfortably now he was aware of them. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her close. 

*

Carver had lost track of how much time they’d spent together on the ground, sandwiched in between the hedges, Merrill wrapped in his arms. He wished he could stay here forever, but he really didn’t think that this was what the Knight-Commander had meant when she’d said his diplomacy mission would help temper templar-mage relations.

Merrill let out a little snore, and it was that, strangely enough, that shook him out of the fugue of lust which had clouded his mind ever since their encounter with the wyvern.

They’d come here for a reason, after all. All four of them.

“Merrill,” Carver said, gently shaking her shoulder. “Don’t you think the others have been gone a while?”

She opened her eyes and looked at him blearily. “Now that you mention it…”

“… We should go find them before they find us,” he completed. He supposed it was fortunate that it was only him and Merrill who had been doused with the wyvern guts, so to speak. Thanking the Maker for small mercies, he got to his feet, and started redressing himself. He wasn’t quite sure exactly what to say next, but felt it important to articulate his intentions. “We’ll talk about this later, right?” He wanted this to be more than a tryst in an Orlesian hedge maze, if it could be.

The grin Merrill offered in return lit up her entire face. Like a sunflower. “Of course. I'd like that very much."

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative title: Carver Came at Chateau Haine


End file.
